


Unstable

by QuantumAbyss_mal (lonestarjdv)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Because He's Literally a Horse for 3/4 of this Fic, Fantasy, Horse Hand Job, Horses, If I Missed a Tag I Promise It's Not on Purpose Let Me Know, Implied Bestiality, M/M, Masturbation, Public Masturbation, Really Two Hand Job, Shiro (Voltron) Has a Large Cock, There's Some Hand-wavey Magic Going On Here, near-drowning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25625251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonestarjdv/pseuds/QuantumAbyss_mal
Summary: The townspeople said the horse was unnatural with its shimmering limb and the broad scar between its eyes--eyes that looked like they understood more than a horse should. An ill portent. A bad omen. Too beautiful and terrible to be a true-born horse. After the stories of its appearance came the stories of its nature. Wild, unbreakable. When one of the other grooms at the stables came back wild-eyed with a sprained ankle and larger than life tales of a warhorse breathing flames and trampling the unwary beneath its silver hooves, Keith decided it was time to have a look.aka Keith falls in love with a magical horse.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 116





	Unstable

The rumors about the pale horse began a fortnight after the Galra had been driven from the kingdom. A fortnight since the magical haze that suffused the wood dissipated. A fortnight since Keith lost his family in the fire that consumed the village. And a fortnight since the royal family disappeared. 

Aside from his mother and father, Keith felt the loss of the prince most keenly. His childhood friend on the cusp of something more. He remembered the brush of a thumb across his knuckles as the prince looked down from astride his warhorse, departing for the final battle. His iron eyes had been full of desire and promise. 

And then, like everything else Keith had considered immutable, he was gone. 

The townspeople said the horse was unnatural with its shimmering limb and the broad scar between its eyes--eyes that looked like they understood more than a horse should. An ill portent. A bad omen. Too beautiful and terrible to be a true-born horse. After the stories of its appearance came the stories of its nature. Wild, unbreakable. When one of the other grooms at the stables came back wild-eyed with a sprained ankle and larger than life tales of a warhorse breathing flames and trampling the unwary beneath its silver hooves, Keith decided it was time to have a look. 

The next day he pocketed an apple, tucked his knife into his waistband, and made his way to the village wall that bordered the meadow by the wood. He wasn’t the only one who had come to see what had clearly become the daily village distraction. He weaved his way between children and vendors and found a seat on the wall where he threw his leg over and scanned the open space for the horse in question. Apparently the star of the show had yet to arrive. He settled, removed the apple from his pocket, and started cutting broad slices as they all waited for the horse to appear. He was offering a slice to a threadbare child when a hush went through the crowd. 

He turned and the sight of the horse took his breath away. 

Keith spent all day looking at horses, caring for horses. Royal horses at that. This horse was something else entirely. A stallion unlike any he’d ever seen. He couldn’t take his eyes off it as it moved around the meadow, and his mouth went dry as he watched it take a turn in the field, tail raised like a banner, neck arched, nostrils flared. It’s motions were fluid and powerful, graceful and precise. Keith wondered what it would be like to ride a horse like that, if it could be ridden at all. He gasped at the thought. 

As if the horse could hear him over the crowd noise, first an ear then its head turned in his direction. They locked eyes, then Keith recalled the remnants of the apple, forgotten in his hand. He wiped his knife on his sleeve and stowed it again at his waist, then held the apple out. An offering. 

The stallion flicked an ear and stamped, then walked the length of the field to stop before Keith, lowering its massive head to Keith’s hand to take the apple with delicate lips. It stopped to snuffle again at Keith’s hand, then pushed against his chest in search of more snacks. The horse was gentle, but the sheer size of him nearly knocked Keith off the wall. He reached out and grasped just under the horse’s cheek, gripping at his jaw. The horse’s eye rolled and he extended his head. Keith prepared for a bite or a push, but then the horse stopped and allowed Keith to collect himself. 

Keith took a breath and dusted off his shirt. “Well, horse, I don’t have any more apples here, but if you’d like to come back to the stables with me, there are plenty where those came from.”

The horse made a low sound, almost a harumph, in its chest, then stepped daintily around the wall and waited for Keith to join him on the road to the palace. 

The entire village watched in stunned silence as the untameable magical horse walked sedately up the hill behind Keith. 

Keith made good on his promise of apples when they arrived at the stable and it was no trouble arranging a stall for his new friend when so many horses hadn’t returned from the final battle. Despite the rumors and the general reputation of stallions, Keith found the horse good natured and responsive. Affectionate even. 

As he settled the horse into its new accommodations, he took a moment to stand at its head. He scrubbed his nails in the hair at the horse’s cheek and breathed in the sweet, slightly dusty smell of his equine companion. 

“What are we going to call you? I can’t very well keep calling you horse.” 

He traced the broad scar across the stallion’s nose, then reached up and twisted the white hair between the horse’s ears around his fingers. 

“Can I call you Shiro?” The horse whickered low in response. “It was my friend’s name,” Keith continued. “You remind me of him.” 

He ran his hand between the horse’s dark, keen eyes. Keith’s own eyes were distant. “Strong but gentle. Noble. Beautiful. Stubborn.” Keith struggled with the last words. 

He closed his eyes and put his forehead to the horse’s. His breaths shook as he mourned the friend who he had hoped was more than a friend. “I loved him,” he whispered. The horse’s ears twitched forward. “Why did I have to lose him to realize how much I loved him?” He gave the horse one last squeeze and then, shoulders slumped in resignation, he turned to close and lock the stall door. The horse followed him, but stopped at the threshold. “I’ll see you in the morning, Shiro.” He gave the horse’s muzzle a final caress, before sliding the door between them. 

Shiro watched Keith walk down the empty stable corridor until he disappeared, small and alone, into the night.

\\\

Shiro was standing where Keith had left him the night before when he returned in the morning. He slid the door open and patted the horse on the nose. 

“Miss me?” Shiro moved his head up and down in a motion that could have been mistaken for a head nod, and Keith chuckled. “Hungry, I bet.” 

Sure enough the horse’s nose was in his pocket, where Keith had his own breakfast, a banana. “Bananas, huh? Alright you.” He took the banana out of his pocket and peeled it as the horse waited expectantly. He discarded the peel and held the banana out as he had the apples the day before and Shiro accepted the gift as delicately. Keith opened the door to Shiro’s outdoor paddock and gave his cheek a pat as he assured him that he would return once morning chores were complete and he had time for lunch.

The other horses were pleasant, as they normally were, but something felt different about Shiro, and Keith found he was impatient to finish his work and return to the new horse. He got the sense that Shiro felt the same. Every time he looked in the direction of the stall when he was indoors, Shiro was standing at his door looking at Keith, and every time Keith looked in the direction of the paddock outside, Shiro was standing at the fenceline looking in his direction.

He was finishing with the last horse of the morning when he heard a crash and a shout from the other end of the stable and then the roar of an angry stallion. He looked toward Shiro’s stall and instead of Shiro’s patient face, he saw the stall door was open and empty. He ran. 

Shiro had the groom who had sprained his angle in the meadow cornered in his stall. His arms were raised and he’d clearly soiled his pants. Shiro was stomping and snorting, but didn’t advance on the intruding groom or rear. There was an apple, untouched, resting in the chaff.

Keith stood well outside the stall door and shushed to the horse, motioning to calm Shiro with one hand as he beckoned the groom with the other. He grabbed another apple from a bucket on the wall and held it out, and once Shiro had shifted his attention from the groom to Keith, he threw the apple through the door to the outdoor paddock. Shiro blinked when he saw Keith. His shoulders relaxed and he hung his head and backed away from the groom making what sounded like conciliatory noises. “Go! Get your apple Shiro!” Shiro backed into the corner and shrunk against the wall, but didn’t leave the stall and didn’t take his eyes off Keith. Keith motioned to the other groom from where he stood beyond the stall door and he moved slowly, then quickly out of the stall once he realized the horse wasn’t going to move. Keith slid the door shut once the other groom was out. 

“That horse is a monster!” the groom shouted, pointing at Shiro once he was safely in the aisle. “He doesn’t belong in a stable! He belongs in the ground! It’s unnatural! And so are you!” He stalked off muttering about brujeria. 

Shiro’s nose poked through the stall door, and Keith reached out to pat it absently. “Don’t worry buddy. I know you’re not a monster.” 

\\\

Keith was cautious that night when he came to Shiro’s stall, but the horse was contrite and gave him plenty of space as he moved around the small space, changing bedding and refreshing water. The apples were still resting on the floor where they’d been when Keith had intervened in the morning. He kept an eye on Shiro as he bent to pick up the apples. Shiro watched Keith warily from the corner of his stall, but didn’t move. 

Keith walked over to Shiro and offered the apple. Shiro moved his head away. 

Keith inspected the apple in the waning afternoon light but it looked like any other apple. He sniffed it, and when he had ascertained that it was a perfectly fine apple, he polished it on his sleeve and took a healthy bite. Shiro watched him with interest, but didn’t move to take the apple from him. 

“Apple’s fine Shiro. Don’t you want an apple?” He held out the whole apple in his other hand. 

Shiro lowered his head to Keith’s hand but hesitated. He looked at him again for confirmation. Keith nodded encouragingly and lifted the apple toward Shiro’s lips. “Eat the apple. You’re not in trouble.”

At the last line, Shiro’s mood seemed to improve considerably and he chomped the apple with gusto. When he had finished his, he turned his attention to the remaining apple in Keith’s hand.

“What the hell. It was supposed to be your apple anyway.” he said as he handed what was left to Shiro. He stepped into Shiro’s space as he munched and the horse hooked his chin over Keith’s shoulder and pulled him closer.

“Oh, hey! Feeling better I guess.” He reached up to scratch behind the horse’s ears, then across his cheek, finally wrapping his arms as far as they would reach around the horse’s neck. They stood there a good while, until it was time for Keith to light the gas lamps. “Don’t worry Shiro. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’re a good horse.” 

\\\

Shortly after the horse arrived, the seasons started to turn, and after a week of shivering alone in the hayloft, Keith started to sleep in the stable with the horse for the warmth. He would never have dreamed of such a thing with any other horse, but Shiro, well Shiro was special. He worried sometimes that maybe he was growing too fond of this horse. It was, after all, just a horse. A horse that wouldn’t be ridden or pull a cart or a plough or perform any of a variety of other accepted horse activities. 

“He’s useless for anything except following you around apparently,” the stablemaster said as Keith trotted at his heels one morning. “Won’t let anyone else get near him. At the very least, we can put him out to stud. People have been asking. Vet comes for the exam on Thursday. You’re gonna have to help.” Keith looked at Shiro. How exactly was he going to help the vet? 

The vet came to complete Shiro’s breeding soundness examination on Thursday as scheduled. She handed Keith two warm washcloths and instructed him, from a distance, how to collect a sample from his friend. 

Keith had seen Shiro erect. Everyone that worked at the stable has seen Shiro erect. He was a stallion. He was not particularly shy about it, nor should he have been. All the grooms grudgingly agreed that Shiro was particularly well endowed. He did seem to get especially excited when he saw Keith after some time apart, and Keith always just shook his head and said “you’re so embarrassing.” And then Shiro would calm down and nibble at Keith’s arm, the top of his head, really whatever he could reach.

What the vet was asking was entirely different. 

The vet wanted him to touch Shiro. To make him come into a receptacle so that she could test his semen for a variety of characteristics that Keith had not heard since it came after the part where she told him he would be jerking off his best horse friend in front of her. She had insisted that Shiro be restrained for Keith’s safety, and the horse was as immobile as he had ever been in Keith’s presence. Keith recognized it was probably for the best, but it still made him uncomfortable. Keith walked to Shiro’s head, where his lead was attached to the wall and Keith stretched on his tiptoes to press their foreheads together. 

“Ok Shiro.” 

This should not feel as weird as it does. Keith thought. This should be a clinical, professional procedure accomplished without any kinds of feeling involved. This happened all the time. If Shiro were any other stallion, the vet would be doing this herself. Just be cool. Nothing weird.

Instead he said as he rubbed his hand along Shiro’s cheek “I just want to make you feel good, ok buddy? The better I can make you feel, the quicker this will be over. And then I’ll get you some apples and we’ll take a walk or something.”

Then he kissed Shiro on the nose and ran his hand down his neck and along his flank until he reached his belly. He kissed Shiro again on his side and then reached under with the washcloths. Shiro started briefly and stretched his neck to look back at Keith, but then they settled into a rhythm and the lids of Shiro’s eyes started to droop. It took longer than Keith expected, but the vet seemed pleased when Shiro’s hips shuddered and his neck went slack, his head hanging toward the ground. Keith threw his arms over Shiro’s back and rested against him while he caught his breath and waited for his own erection to die down. He figured that was probably totally normal, too. 

He fetched Shiro his apples and they took their walk, but they didn’t make eye contact for the rest of the day, and that night Keith dreamed that Shiro was not a horse, or maybe Keith was not a man? And Shiro was nipping at the back of Keith’s neck. Lunging to mount him. He could feel Shiro pressed against him. Straining, thrusting, searching until he slid home and Keith woke with a yell, panting against the horse, his erection straining at the lacings on his pants.

Shiro calmly lifted his head, his eyes heavy with sleep, ears turning their attention toward Keith, and blew a warm huff of air in Keith’s face. If Keith didn’t know any better, he’d think Shiro was looking at the bulge in his pants appraisingly. He swatted the horse gently on the cheek. “Not a word.” Shiro huffed again.

It was still early. None of the normal morning stable noises had begun. Just the quiet shifting of horses in their sleep.

“Just a dream. Just a horse” he whispered to no one as he stretched one hand out along Shiro’s flank to steady himself and loosened the lacings on his breeches with the other. He slid his hand down the front of his pants and pressed back into Shiro’s flank as his fingers brushed the sensitive skin trapped against the rough fabric to guide it free. He gasped and his head dropped back against Shiro. He was already so close, and a few strokes in, his orgasm had him shuddering forward, his hand palming the hairs on Shiro’s haunch. He had the idle thought that the extra brushing was making a difference, hit the hairs just right with his palm, and came again, pulsing but spent. He took a couple breaths, coming back into himself, eyes squeezed shut. He focused on the last fading sensations as they finally drained from his toes and fingertips, skittering away in all the places his body was making contact with the hard floor of the stable and it’s prickly rushes or the soft warm body of his best friend. When he straightened and opened his eyes, he found Shiro gazing at him intently with his soft eyes. Keith licked his lips and ran his thumb a couple more times across Shiro’s haunch before he gave him a firm pat and used the leverage to stand. Anything to break the too intent gaze of his equine companion who was seriously, just a horse. He turned his back to Shiro and stripped his shirt off, cleaning himself up and throwing the shirt in the corner with the other goods to be laundered that day. Keith could hear Shiro stand as well. A familiar rustle as he rose from the ground.

And then the feeling of silk brushing across his exposed back. Tiny hairs raised along his neck and arms. He turned to look over his shoulder and Shiro’s nose was pressed into his lower back, his eyes looking up into Keith’s.

Keith had another dream that night, that he was standing stripped with his hands against the stable wall, bent at the waist, his chest parallel with the floor. Or was he a horse again? And Shiro was mouthing at his backside, soft lips pulled back from firm teeth, grazing gently across the delicate skin of Keith’s cheeks and then between, his tongue lapping there alternately with the nibbles and strokes until Keith woke with a moan and a concerned horse watching him closely.

This time Keith switched hands and fisted his free hand in Shiro’s mane. Shiro’s head bucked but he stilled when Keith’s other hand slid into his pants again and his breathing started coming in little gasps and moans against Shiro’s side. This time he arched back, across Shiro, his legs straightening and pushing his hips up from the ground. His hand clenched in the coarse hair at the base of Shiro’s neck and his muscles were so tight he felt like he might snap. Shiro’s eyes rolled with concern, but he held. Time seemed to stop while Keith’s body was pulled out like this. He could feel Shiro’s heart beat under him. When his body finally relaxed in little shudders and increments, so did Shiro’s. The horse heaved a great sigh when Keith touched down again and curled into him. Keith’s fingers flexed and carded through the hair of Shiro’s mane for long minutes. Then he stilled.

Shiro’s mouth nibbled at Keith’s knee, and he chuckled reflexively. Ticklish. He sighed, collected himself, and rose, leaving the warm bubble around Shiro. His goddam horse.

This time he faced Shiro when he took his shirt off. “No surprises,” he scolded, wiping up his chest and thanking god he had more than 2 shirts.

Shiro whickered and stood. He bowed his head and walked slowly forward, looking at Keith, then tipped his face forward so that his nose and mouth could work at the waistband of Keith’s pants.

“Jesus horse,” Keith whispered.

//

Keith decided it was time for a change of scenery that day, so instead of working in the yard, they headed into the forest bordering the stable. Keith was lost in thought and Shiro seemed to know where he was going, weaving with purpose between trees and stones until they ended up at a forest pool Keith had never seen before. Moss covered rocks ringed the edges and a broad bank sloped gently to the water’s edge. Keith turned Shiro loose to graze and settled his back against a birch, reaching into his bag for an apple and some hard cheese. He watched Shiro absently, mind still half somewhere else until Shiro stepped forward into the water. Sometimes he did that, wet his front fetlocks, especially if he was particularly thirsty, Keith thought. Not unusual. Not worthy of alarm. Until he would swear Shiro looked at him over his shoulder and pressed forward. The water passed his fetlocks, his knees, his shoulders, until he was paddling in circles in the center of the pool. 

Keith was on his feet. He never dreamed that the pool was deeper than Shiro’s knees and he was suddenly facing the distinct possibility that the pool had a bottom he couldn't reach. A bottom Shiro couldn’t reach. He tried to lure Shiro back to shore with what remained of his apple, whistling and calling to him, offering one of Shiro’s favorite treats in his outstretched hand, his clucks and encouragements for Shiro to return devolving quickly into panicked pleas, exhortations of a higher power. Shiro regarded Keith’s panic with equanimity from the center of the pool where he had been paddling for a couple minutes. He didn’t look scared or winded, but he took a long look at Keith, and stopped swimming. Keith watched in horror as Shiro’s head disappeared beneath the surface of the pool, barely disturbing the mirror-like calm. 

And then Keith was alone. 

A strangled cry fought past his lips. He kicked off his shoes, apple forgotten on the ground. Men could barely save drowning men, how exactly did he think he was going to save a drowning horse? He filled his lungs, idly thinking it may be his last breath. The water was colder than he expected when it broke over his head and he began to pull in long, powerful strokes toward the depths of the pool where he saw Shiro disappear. Visibility was poor in the murky water, but he scanned desperately until he located what he thought was a horse sized white blur and struck out toward it. His world narrowed to the pull of each stroke, the burn in his lungs. No matter how hard he kicked, the white blur seemed just out of reach. 

Just a little bit deeper. 

Just a tiny bit farther. 

His strokes were getting weaker and his lungs were fire. He did a quick mental calculation of how quickly he could make it to the surface just before he realized that he had nothing left. He gave one last weak kick, and then let the water cradle him in the darkness. 

All he had to do was take a deep breath. 

He didn’t want Shiro to die alone. He didn’t want to die alone. 

He simply couldn’t lose another thing that he loved. He didn’t want to live without Shiro. 

He sobbed and the last of his air escaped in bubbles rising more rapidly than he could toward the surface. 

The darkness closed in.

//

He was dead. He was dreaming? So many fucking weird dreams. Someone was stroking his hair, making little humming noises, maybe a song sung under the breath. Keith felt like he was still swimming, although this time, upward, fighting his way through darkness toward consciousness. He was about to give up, to sink back into the depths of sleep, when a voice dragged him the rest of the way to the surface. A voice and light, warm pressure to his temple. A kiss. 

“Wake up, baby.”

His head was pillowed on a man’s thigh. As Keith’s eyes focused, a gentle face swam into view. With kind eyes framed by long dark lashes. A bright white forelock. There was something familiar. The scar. There was a scar across the bridge of his nose. Something tugged at the back of Keith’s mind. 

The man looked at Keith out of the corner of his eye as he reached up to poke at a fire.

It was dark. Moonlight glittered off the surface of the pool.

“Shiro?”

The man hummed in response.

Keith leaned forward and vomited pool water.

//

When he came to again, he was reclined, facing the fire, something broad and warm across his chest, his body rising and falling rhythmically. He felt safe. He reached up to feel the band across his chest and realized it was a man’s forearm. He was reclining against a man. He tuned into the rest of his body and realized he was reclining against a naked man. His clothes were spread across a bush to dry on the other side of the fire,, meaning he must also be naked, which a quick look down confirmed. Keith’s memory of earlier in the evening came rushing back to him and he scrambled out of the man’s lap, standing and turning to look at him where he was leaning against the same tree that Keith had leaned against to eat his apple what seemed like a lifetime ago.

The movement and the sudden cold made the man stir. His eyes opened and he looked at Keith blearily. 

“My love,” he said, sleepy smile turning up the corners of his mouth. He opened his arms in invitation. “Come back to sleep.” 

Keith thought his heart would burst. The prince. His prince. And also, his horse? Why? How? He dropped slowly to his knees and creeped back toward the man against the tree. He traced the scar across his nose and twisted the white hair at his forehead around his fingers. “Shiro?” 

Shiro hand came up to rest at Keith’s jaw. “Yes.” 

‘Shiro, what do you remember?” 

“I remember everything. That you loved me as a man. And you wanted me as a horse,” he raised an eyebrow and Keith’s eyes dropped to the ground. 

“I loved you as a horse as well, Shiro.”

Shiro hooked a finger under his chin and lifted his face to look him in the eye. “And do you want me as a man?” 

Keith curled in on himself. “I do,” he whispered. 

“Good,” Shiro breathed as he pulled Keith into him. 

//

This time when Shiro mounted Keith from behind, his warm breath huffing against Keith’s ear, Keith spread his knees solid and wide without fear of being split apart. If anything it was quite the opposite. As Shiro’s body caged him in and he nipped at his neck, mouthed across his shoulders, and finally, finally sunk deep into Keith’s warmth, it was as if his world was coming together. The shame and fear melted away and he gave himself up to the warm pressure at the base of his spine. 

//

They woke curled together in the glade, the fire burned down to embers. They waded into the shallows to bathe, splashing one another and scrubbing with soapwort and moss. Keith spent long minutes running his fingers through Shiro’s hair, sorting the tangles until he could section and braid it into a plait befitting a prince returned to his kingdom. He found wildflowers at the edge of their little clearing and wove them in, trying to prolong the time that he would have Shiro to himself, knowing that an entire kingdom would want to celebrate his return once they left their forest haven. Shiro sat patiently and only moved his head to give Keith long, soft looks that made him blush. 

Keith wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear, but in the early morning hours, as they had dozed in one anothers' arms, Shiro had murmured, “I love you, too.” 

As they were readying to return to the stables, they heard shouting in the woods. 

The members of the search party who found the prince and Keith that day were sworn to secrecy, but if you ever caught one deep in his cups, you might have heard how the king was rediscovered deep in a forest glade, naked as the day he was born, kissing the man who would become king’s consort. 

And the pale horse was never seen again.

**Author's Note:**

> I love and respond to comments. Emojis, keysmashes, anything. If you enjoy any part of this fic, please let me know! 
> 
> And if you want to read something else I've written (am writing), maybe check out Khoury: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25341880/chapters/61445089


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